


The Perfect Date With Jemma Simmons

by SuburbanSun



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Hollywood, F/M, First Dates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-18
Updated: 2016-06-18
Packaged: 2018-07-15 18:11:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7233271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuburbanSun/pseuds/SuburbanSun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Leo Fitz wins a date with beautiful and intelligent actor Jemma Simmons, he’s shocked-- for one thing, because he never entered the contest to begin with.</p><p>He’s even more shocked when the date goes well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Perfect Date With Jemma Simmons

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Team Biochem's challenge to Team Engineering](http://teambiochem.tumblr.com/post/146076685659): "Create a small fanwork - write a paragraph/drabble, make a graphic/edit, or something else of your choosing - on the following topic: 'The Perfect Date with Jemma Simmons.'"
> 
> Thanks to [bigfunnywords](http://bigfunnywords.tumblr.com/)/raptorlindsay for the chapter 1 beta!

Fitz groaned and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to ignore the sound of his phone vibrating on his nightstand. Who thought calling him at 8 a.m. on a Saturday was a smart idea?

The noise wasn’t stopping, and whatever nice dream he’d been having had already slipped away, so he sighed heavily and reached out for the phone.

“‘lo?”

“Is this Leopold Fitz?” said an unfamiliar man’s voice.

“Mmhmm. Yeah, ‘s me.”

“Congratulations from _Entertainment Tonight_! You’re a winner!”

Fitz frowned, finally opening his eyes to the dim morning light of his bedroom. “Huh?”

“Congratulations!” the voice said again. _Too bloody early in the morning for that kind of cheerfulness,_ Fitz thought.

“Sorry, I don’t know what you’re on about. What did I win?”

“The Perfect Date with Jemma Simmons!”

Fitz felt his stomach drop, and he sat up in bed. “I’m sorry, what?”

The cheerful voice over the phone pressed on. “As a part of your prize package, we’ll be flying you out to LA to meet _the_ Jemma Simmons for a romantic one-on-one dinner _next Friday_. Your accommodations are covered, of course, and all we need is for you to fill out the paperwork we’ve already emailed over.”

“But I didn’t, um. What?”

“Just fill out the paperwork before close-of-business Monday and you’ll be on your way to the best date of your life!”

Fitz reached up a hand to rub at his temple. Was this some sort of prank? Just as he was about to accuse the voice on the phone of being a buddy of Trip’s, or maybe Daisy’s, the voice cut him off.

“We’re sure you have plenty to do to prepare, so we’ll let you go. Remember to submit that paperwork by Monday!”

And then the call disconnected.

_What. The. Hell._

 

 

“What do you mean, you don’t know anything about it?”

Trip shrugged, giving Fitz his best lopsided grin. “I don’t know what to tell you, man. It wasn’t me. I was otherwise occupied this morning.”

Fitz huffed, putting both hands on his hips, as his gaze slid over to Daisy. She’d been uncharacteristically silent while he pestered Trip. Fitz narrowed his eyes. “So then--”

She widened her eyes at him. “It wasn’t me!” She jerked a thumb at Trip. “Who do you think he was ‘otherwise occupied’ _with_?”

“Ugh,” Fitz said, pinching the bridge of his nose. He knew far too much about his two best friends’ sex lives already.

“Buuuut,” began Daisy, biting her lip and looking away. “That doesn’t necessarily mean I was otherwise occupied six weeks ago. When I found out about the contest and submitted you for it.” She said the last bit fast, like she knew he wouldn’t react well.

“You _what_?”

Daisy winced. “I’m sorry?”

“Why on Earth would you do such a thing?” Fitz flailed his arms about wildly, because he didn’t know what else to do. This was _not_ how he’d expected to spend his Saturday.

“Well, it’s not like you’ve dated anyone, oh, _ever_ , in the time that I’ve known you!” Daisy shrugged. “And I _know_ she’s your type. You always make us be quiet when her TV show’s on.”

“It’s a _good show_!”

“So I submitted an essay on why you should go on a date with her, and I guess it won. Yay?”

Trip looked from Fitz to his girlfriend and back to Fitz before letting out an incredulous laugh. “Baby, I love you, but that’s the definition of an overstep.”

Daisy scoffed. “What, because I want my dear friend Fitz here--” She crooked her elbow around Fitz’s neck, and he glared as she pulled him close. “--to be happy?”

“Let me go, you sociopath,” Fitz muttered, and she did, but not before ruffling his hair like she was his grandma, or older sister (which, he supposed, she basically was). “What am I supposed to do now?”

Both Daisy and Trip looked at him as if he was stupid (which he certainly wasn’t. He had a Ph.D. in Mechanical Engineering, thank you very much. How could he be stupid?). “Uh,” said Trip. “You go on the date.”

“Duh,” Daisy chimed in.

Fitz flailed his arms again, this time too shocked to even speak.

“If nothing else, man, it’s a free trip to LA.”

Fitz frowned. “Which we live forty minutes away from.”

“Still!” said Daisy. “You gotta take ‘em up on it. Get a nice weekend away, stay in a fancy hotel, and go on a date with _the woman of your dreams_.”

“Can’t bloody imagine what you wrote about that they picked me,” Fitz grumbled, but he didn’t disagree. After all, he had until Monday to decide.

 

 

The weekend came and went, and on Monday afternoon, Fitz sat alone at the desk in his living room. He tapped his pen anxiously against the wood grain, staring at his computer screen.

All he had to do was fill out the paperwork.

And he’d be whisked off to LA.

For a date.

With Jemma Simmons.

Star of his favorite TV show, single-handedly making chemistry look cool to a nation of viewers, well-spoken in interviews, charming on Twitter-- _that_ Jemma Simmons.

He bit his lip. He chewed his pen. And then he typed his name on the appropriate dotted lines and clicked “Send” on the email with his eyes squeezed shut.

He was going on a date with Jemma Simmons.

God help him.

 

 

“You Leo Fitz?” said a petite woman with headphones around her neck as he entered the lavish hotel lobby. He nodded, about to ask how she knew, when she spoke up again. “You submitted your picture with your contest entry, remember?”

“Ah,” was all he could say.

“Follow me to your room. You’re all checked in and everything,” said the woman. She began to walk further into the hotel, and Fitz followed a step behind her, getting into the elevator and watching as she pressed the button for the top floor. “Why’d you choose to drive yourself here, anyway? Transpo was part of the prize.”

He shrugged. “I don’t live far. Seemed silly not to.”

“Suit yourself. This is us.” She led him off the elevator and down a series of hallways. “So, you ready for tonight’s big date?” She sounded bored and stilted, like she was following a script given to her by her bosses.

“I don’t know, honestly.”

“You’re going to do great,” she said in a monotone. “This is you.”

The woman slipped a key into the slot and held open the door to his room, letting him pass her to enter. It was extravagant, by his standards. By any standards, really. He wheeled his small suitcase into it and turned back to notice that she had remained standing in the doorway.

“You have our info if you need anything,” she said, gesturing to a clean white sheet of paper sitting on the hotel room desk. Limo’ll pick you up at 7 sharp in the lobby. Don’t be late.”

“Um,” he managed, but she shut the door and disappeared. He turned in a slow circle, taking in his circumstances, then checked his watch. “Shit,” he muttered. He had three hours to figure out how in the hell he was going to survive the night.

 

 

Fitz had never been one to stress over his appearance. He knew it was fine, no more, no less, and that was that. But he’d let Daisy help him pack (even as he cursed her name for getting him into this mess to begin with), so he had half a dozen outfit options to choose from.

He stared down at them all laid out on the bed. He had no idea which one would scream “I promise I’m not a crazy stalker; my possibly-ex-best-friend is the one who set me up for this; I’m a fan but not an insane one; please don’t hate my guts.” Maybe the grey cardigan?

He frowned, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror that hung behind the TV. And _what_ was he going to do about his curls? He grimaced. Should he shave, or leave some stubble? He sighed. How did people _do_ this?

In the end, he went with this: off-white button down. Blazer over it, though he cast a longing look at the cardigan for how soft and comforting it always felt. The stubble stayed. Nothing could be done about the curls.

Seven p.m. came fast, and he took a deep breath as the limo drove up outside the hotel lobby.

_Here goes nothing._

 

 

When the driver pulled open the limo door, Fitz expected it to be empty-- he thought surely he’d be taken to the restaurant, where Jemma Simmons would show up after a half hour or so, stay for a short one-course dinner, and then disappear from his life forever.

Instead, there she was, tucked against the door on the other side with her legs crossed, wearing a dark blue dress that just skimmed her knees.

Fitz nearly tripped over the curb.

“Hello!” she said, ducking her head to see him from her spot in the limo. Dry-mouthed, he clambered in next to her with a nod and a small smile.

As the driver shut the door behind him, Jemma Simmons stuck out her hand. “I’m Jemma,” she said, and her smile looked almost shy. He nodded dumbly for a long moment before realizing he needed to act like a human, so he shook her hand and swallowed.

“I’m Fitz.”

She furrowed her brow. “I thought the packet said Leopold?”

“Leopold Fitz. Is my name. But I go by Fitz,” he managed. He let go of her hand and let his own settle in his lap.

“Oh, lovely,” she said, grinning. She smoothed her hands over the skirt of her dress, then met his eyes again. “Have you had a nice time in LA so far?”

“I live here.”

“Oh--”

“I mean-- not here exactly, but close. Forty minutes or so.”

“Oh, that’s nice! They didn’t include those details on the packets they gave me to choose from. I just assumed you’d come from a bit farther away.”

“Nope,” he said, tapping his fingertips rhythmically against his knees. They fell into silence, before he realized something. “Wait a second, they gave you packets to choose from?”

She frowned. “Well-- of course. How else would I have selected the winner?”

His mouth went dry again. “I just thought-- you-- _you_ selected the winner?”

Jemma chuckled. “Well, obviously. Did you think I would let someone else dictate who I got to spend my evening with?”

“I just assumed… your manager, or the show itself, or--”

She shook her head. “I agreed to this publicity stunt on two conditions.” He raised his eyebrows, urging her to continue. “One-- _Entertainment Tonight_ made a sizeable donation to my favorite Women in STEM organization. Two-- I got to choose the winner entirely by myself.”

Fitz felt his face grow warm as he thought of all the things that Daisy might have written in the contest entry she’d submitted on his behalf. She’d refused to let him read it, and hadn’t been very forthcoming about what she’d included. He opened his mouth to apologize for whatever embarrassing lies Daisy had told, but Jemma spoke first.

“Look, we’re here!”

He looked out the window of the limo to see the storefront of a very trendy-looking sushi restaurant, complete with a velvet rope. He wrinkled his nose at the line of people waiting to get in on the one side, and the gaggle of paparazzi on the other side. Jemma sighed, and he wasn’t sure if she’d seen the look on his face or not.

“I know-- it’s _so_ pretentious. But I told you I had two demands of this contest, and that means that _ET_ got their way in most every other respect.” She tilted her head to the side, looking at him with concerned eyes. “I hope this is okay?”

He laughed nervously. “Of course it’s okay!”

She breathed out a relieved sigh as the driver opened her door. “Good. See you inside?”

Fitz nodded, opening his own door and watching as she crossed around the back of the limo. The photographers snapped photo after photo, and she offered them a polite smile but nothing more, walking quickly to the entrance of the restaurant. When she reached the door, she turned around and tilted her head at Fitz with a grin that was much warmer, much more real.

“Are you coming?"

 

 

Inside the restaurant, a hostess led them to a secluded table in a back corner, obscured from the rest of the room by a colorful Japanese screen. At the last moment, Fitz had the thought to pull out her chair for her, and he did so, though he couldn’t see her face to know if she had liked the gesture or simply been annoyed by it.

“Do you like sushi?” she asked once he was seated.

“I do. Hard to avoid it in southern California.”

“My favorite thing to do is just have the sushi chef bring out whatever he feels like making us. You get to try so many things that way. What do you think?”

Fitz, who had never been very adventurous as far as eating habits were concerned, nodded his head immediately. She gave their order, as it were, to the waiter, and looked back at Fitz quizzically.

“Wine? Champagne? Sake? Beer?”

“Um, I’ll take a beer.”

She grinned. “Me too,” she said to the waiter, who nodded and took their menus before disappearing. And then they were alone. “So, Fitz. Tell me all about your life!”

He blanched. “Um, I’m not sure how much there is to tell. I’m sure yours is much more exciting to talk about.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Exciting every now and then, sure. When I get to travel, or when my castmates and I get invited to a film premiere. But mostly it’s just showing up where and when I’m supposed to and looking the way I’m supposed to look.”

“And being a role model for young girls, and making huge Hollywood TV shows donate money to good causes…” he rattled off before realizing what he was saying. His eyes widened. “I mean--”

She giggled. “No, no, you’re right. I’m in a position to do a lot of good, and I’m so thankful for that.”

“I didn’t mean to-- I don’t-- I mean--”

“Ugh, Fitz!” She rolled her eyes as she fiddled with her chopsticks. “We all need a reality check every now and again.”

He gave her a half smile, shrugging one shoulder. “I suppose.”

“You as much as anyone else!” she said, leaning both elbows on the table. “You think my life is more exciting than yours, but you’re an internationally renowned scientist!”

Fitz choked on the sip of water he’d just taken, coughing until he could breathe again. “I’m sorry, what’s that?”

“I read your whole paper, and found it absolutely fascinating. And then of course I had to do some research of my own-- on the subject, but also on you.” She smirked, looking up briefly to thank the waiter, who had come to drop off their beers. “How many patents do you have to your name, again?”

“Ten?” Fitz blinked at her, flummoxed. “Wait, but-- what paper?”

She frowned. “Your paper. Your contest submission?”

 _What?_ “She, um-- I mean, I submitted one of my papers?”

Jemma nodded excitedly. “The one on microstructure and phase analysis in permanent magnets?” She furrowed her brow. “Do you not remember?”

Fitz took a long slug of his beer. So Daisy had submitted one of his _scientific papers_ rather than a personal essay as his contest entry.

And Jemma Simmons had _picked_ it.

He wiped at his upper lip, then nodded. “Yeah, ‘course I remember.” But she leveled him with a look, and he sighed, found out. “Okay, I-- um. I didn’t necessarily, exactly, enter this contest myself. Someone else entered on my behalf.” He cringed. “Without telling me.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Really. My friend Daisy apparently saw fit to submit me for it without so much as informing me she was doing so.”

The waiter appeared, setting down two plates of sushi rolls in front of them. Jemma’s eyes danced with amusement as she poured soy sauce into a ramekin and dipped a roll into it with her chopsticks. “I’ll have to thank your friend Daisy.”

Fitz’s heart skipped in his chest. “Yeah?” he choked out.

She swallowed her sushi roll, nodding. “Yeah.”

He was silent for a long moment, during which he devoured three sushi rolls because he couldn’t bring himself to speak. Then finally, his curiosity got the better of him. “So, what exactly did Daisy include in my contest entry?”

Jemma stirred a chunk of wasabi into her soy sauce. “It was just your paper, your photo, and a note that said ‘If you like the handsome, brilliant, pasty type, he’s the one.’”

“Oh god.”

She laughed. “I feel quite indebted to her, actually. Most of the entries were so insipid. No one else interested me. Except you, of course.”

He took another sip of beer, then cleared his throat. “Well, I, ah. I suppose I’m a bit indebted to Daisy, myself.”

A slow grin grew on Jemma’s face. “Oh yeah?”

“Oh yeah.”

 

 

  
  
Three hours later, when they left the sushi restaurant, Jemma grabbed his hand on the way out of the building, whispering with her lips right up next to his ear that the paparazzi could do as they pleased.

When they called Daisy from the limo on the way back to the hotel, Jemma had to introduce herself six times before she believed her.

When they pulled up in the hotel driveway, Jemma scooted closer to Fitz on the plush leather seat.

“I had a nice time tonight,” she said.

“Me too,” he murmured softly.

Just then, the driver swung open Fitz’s door, shattering the moment.

“Just a second, please, Charles!” called out Jemma, her voice strained. Charles shut the door obediently, and she took the moment to inch even closer.

“I’m quite glad Daisy submitted you.”

“Me too,” he whispered.

She twisted in her seat so she was facing him more fully, her chest almost pressed against his, and staring up into his eyes, she said, “Fitz?”

“Mmhmm?”

“Would you please kiss me already?”

He widened his eyes. “Oh!” And then he closed the gap between them, press his lips to hers and slipping his hand around her waist.

The kiss was soft, warm and all too quick, and when they both pulled away, Jemma murmured against his lips, “It’s quite good you only live forty minutes away.”

As Fitz blinked at her, Charles tentatively opened the door again.

Jemma grinned, sliding back across the seat to her own side. “Goodnight, Leopold Fitz.”

Fitz struggled to climb out of the back of the limo while keeping his eyes trained on her, but somehow managed. “Goodnight, Jemma Simmons.”

“Fitz!” she called, just as he’d begun to turn away.

“Mmhmm?”

“This was a perfect date.”

He let out a breathy chuckle. “As foretold by _Entertainment Tonight_.”

Her nose wrinkled as she laughed. “Prognosticators of our time, they are. Goodnight.”

He waved, said goodbye to Charles, and walked back to his hotel room, all the while mentally thanking Daisy for setting him up on the most perfect date he could have possibly imagined.

**Author's Note:**

> Want to be buds on Tumblr? I'm unbreakablejemmasimmons over there!


End file.
